


Where Are You Gonna Sleep Tonight

by 230W49thSt



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Chronic Illness, Falling In Love, First Meetings, I'm Gonna Have Nightmares From Writing This, Kind Of A Hopeful End Considering Everything, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pain, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Why Did I Write This?, did I mention dying?, major character deaths, read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 09:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18091637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/230W49thSt/pseuds/230W49thSt
Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world, Lance believes he's the only person left on Earth. His days are miserable. Seconds before he makes an irreversible decision, a silver lining appears on the horizon - and he learns he doesn't have to be alone anymore.READ THE TAGS.





	Where Are You Gonna Sleep Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> This week's prompts for the Games Of Shance discord server (all my love to the wonderful people over there) are "music" and "silence" so I wrote the most horrible thing.
> 
> Listen, usually, I'm not reading angsty stuff. I cannot deal with it very well. But sometimes I write it. So from one sensitive person to another:  
>  **I am begging you to not read this if you're not feeling well. It isn't worth it to feel worse, it really isn't.**  
>   
>  So here's a link to another Shance fic I wrote called ["Night on Earth"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943452) and it's _cute._

## Where Are You Gonna Sleep Tonight

 

_Now._

 

In the end, it will be the silence that kills him.

Maybe the heat of the burning sun and the lack of water would’ve hunted him down sooner or later but it's the silence that breaks his will to live.

He has escaped it once, no, twice already but then it closes in, corners him like the wild animal with the crazy eyes he's been for a while now.

And he cannot run any longer.

 

~~

 

_Before._

 

He started counting the day after the remaining government had declared a worldwide emergency.

On day 1 he assured his family that the scientists would find a solution to stop the virus from spreading while the military kept the civilians’ panic in check.

On day 14 the last member of his family died in his arms and he buried him in the backyard of the ranch he’d lived all his life.

On day 15 he encountered his future murderer for the first time but he slipped away when he started his journey across the hot desert to the next bigger town, looming darkly in the distance since there was no electricity anymore.

On day 30 he stopped caring about the bodies in the streets and in the shops, only the reek of rotting flesh was something he wouldn’t be able to get used to when he walked through the city, partly bombed as an early but futile attempt to stop the spread of the deadly disease.

On day 50 he was sure he was alone on this planet and he pretended he didn't mind it as he walked through another looted mall, humming a song he forgot the name of, searching for clothes and junk to improve the little hide-out he had built himself in the backroom of an ice-cream parlor a few streets away.

On day 98 screams echoed through the empty streets, bricks of stones got thrown through shops and car windows, and after his voice was raw and his hands were bloody, he smashed his head against the wall inside the backroom of the ice-cream parlor, again, and again, and again, and again...

On day 130 he could barely feel the wound on his head anymore and he found pleasure in the sound of the wind that whistled from time to time through a certain alley on the other side of the town.

On day 146 he climbed the stairs of a five-star-hotel until he was standing in the only suite whose guest wasn't a rotting body and he spent the night in the king-sized bed, drinking a warm can of coke from the powerless minibar, reading and rereading the hotel’s brochure in the light of the last candle he owned until he fell asleep.

 

Day 147 was the day he exited the hotel room to stand on the suite’s balcony, his eyes gazing into the warm-colored sunrise at the desert’s horizon, a warm breeze stroking through his hair, a forced smile on his face although he didn’t feel bad, no, he felt good.

Day 147 was the day he sat down on the railing, his legs dangling down as he took his last intakes of breath and locked his eyes one last time at this world.

Day 147 was supposed to be the last day of his life.

 

He hummed the whole song one last time, ready to close his eyes forever but then he stopped.

On the usual empty street that led into town, there was a man. He squinted in the direction of the rising sun, his hands covering his eyes as he tried to decide if he was only seeing a ghost or something real. A few seconds later the man down below fell down to his knees and collapsed on the asphalt. He had never felt so alive when he grabbed his backpack and raced down the fifteen floors of stairs.

He approached the man with the utmost caution and knelt down beside him. Carefully turned him around so he was able to look into his face.

Dark hair with a white strain. Dirt on his broad face. Blood on his strong jaw. A healed scar across his nose. A simple prosthetic for an arm. Black and rundown clothes. Strong pulse. Stable breathing.

He took a sip of water from the bottle in his backpack, sat down next to him and waited. His heart drummed loud in his chest and he nervously began humming the same song he would always hum, over and over again.

He checked the backpack the man was carrying. An empty bottle of water and a lot of boxes of medication he wasn't familiar with. He decided he didn't want to read the prescription information.

The morning sun began to heat up the asphalt and he tried to share his water with the man, pouring one drop at a time into his mouth. He briefly wondered if he was able to drag him into the shadow but then the man started moving.

Little movements. A twitching finger. Frowned brows. Pursed lips. A groan.

His own humming stopped abruptly.

Then words broke the silence.

“I know this song.”

 

Calm dark gray eyes met scared blue eyes.

 

~~

 

On day 147 he started counting again.

 

On day 1 the man introduced himself as Shiro.

“I come from a town in the South. You don’t wanna go there, trust me. It was good until a few weeks ago but then some new people arrived, violent people, and now barely anyone is alive. I ran away straight into the desert. Either the heat would kill me or them.” He pointed at his prosthetic arm. “Can't much fight with this. I had a better one but…” His voice trailed off and the hand of his other arm lightly touched the scar on this voice. “You know how it is.”

He stared blankly at the man.

He didn't _know how it was_.

“But all that lies behind me. You saved me.”

Then Shiro smiled at him and he secretly made himself believe that he and Shiro were the only people on Earth, dismissing every word the man had just said.

 

On day 2 Shiro tried to get a word out of him.

“So I’m gonna state the obvious. You don’t talk, do you?”

He shook his head.

“Alright, that’s fine. You hum but you don’t talk.”

A sheepish look crossed his face, almost as an apology.

“Don't worry about it. I like the song, it reminds me of...a normal life. You still won’t tell me your name? You can write it down if you like.”

He shook his head again.

Shiro eyed him but he didn’t look angry or disappointed. He took it as a fact about his new friend.

“You’re wearing a blue bandana around your neck. I’m gonna call you Blue. Is that okay?”

Blue smiled.

 

On day 10 Blue showed Shiro his hide-out in the ice-cream parlor.

“So _this_ is where you sneak away to every night,” Shiro said and tried to sound accusing but Blue felt something warm in his chest. With much curiosity, Shiro scanned the little back room. A thin mattress, lots of blankets, some pillows, a shark toy and a photo album Blue refused to show him.

“Alright, I won’t look. But say, why don’t you stay in the hotel with me?”

Blue gave him a long stare.

“Oh. The bodies. I understand. I, um, got rid of them on the highest floor and cleaned everything. If you ever change your mind, be free to come with me.”

 

On day 15 their routine was burned into the back of their heads and they worked together effortlessly. They made quite the team: Shiro with his black clothes and Blue with a gray shirt he sometimes changed for a hoodie and a worn down pair of jeans. The blue bandana was wrapped around his neck in case he needed to cover his mouth and nose from dirt and ash.

Shiro didn’t seem to mind when Blue hummed the same song repeatedly, every day, almost all the time they spent together.

They filled up their bottles with fresh water from a nearby ranch, had breakfast in a small park in the city center, looked for junk and food and sat around a small fireplace at night.

They were quiet most of the time (except Blue's humming) but when Shiro said something, he talked as if Blue communicated with him.

“What about beans for dinner? No? Oh, I know you don’t like them but the barbecue ones aren’t that bad. Yeah. Don’t roll your eyes, I’m allowed to change my mind about beans. Compromise? Chili.”

Blue shrugged with a smile on his lips, then nodded.

“Glad you approve.”

Shiro grinned back at him. Although Blue didn't talk they still got to know each other.

 

On day 18 Blue laughed.

Shiro had found a science-fiction book he had read when he was a child. Eagerly he sat down in front of their fireplace that night and showed Blue the cover.

“It’s called Defenders Of The Universe and you’ll love it. It’s about a group of young people who pilot huge robot lions and together they form a super robot called Voltron.” He sighs. “I always wanted to pilot the Black Pilot.” He looked at his friend. “You’d be Blue, obviously.”

Blue smiled, hugged his knees and leaned his head on his arms. With an impatient nudge of his chin, he prompted him to start reading. Time passed, the fire was warm in the rather cold air of the desert's town and Shiro’s voice was the only sound around them next to the cracking of the fire. Blue was almost falling asleep when Shiro’s voice got louder.

“And then the alien ship fires its laser guns but Voltron is able to jump into the next wormhole and it shoots into nothing! BLAM BLAM BLAM!”

A second past with Blue staring at him with wide eyes.

Then, like bubbles filled with air making their way up the surface of an ocean, he broke out into a short burst of laughter. Quickly he covered his mouth with his fingers as if he'd done something strictly forbidden.

Shiro was mesmerized.

When Blue locked eyes with him, it was over.

A new laughing fit shook his body. Blue held his belly and fell to his side, instantly causing Shiro to worry if he was in pain. And yes, he was in pain because laughing hurt. It hurt in his belly, in his throat, in his heart, in his soul and made him cry.

He couldn’t stop though.

And then Shiro joined.

Together they laughed under the star-covered night sky, the only people in the city, maybe in this world, and their laughter formed a song that got carried through the empty streets, cleaning the town from all the bad thoughts Blue had in the months he'd been here alone.

When Blue had calmed down, Shiro looked at him with some expectation he couldn’t hide. Blue bit his lip and lowered his gaze. Slowly he shook his head but there was some hesitation in his decision.

Not a _no_ anymore, but a _not yet_.

“It’s fine,” Shiro repeated softly as he did on day 2. Secretly he wished nothing more than to hear him laugh again but for now, he was content to listen to the song he hummed.

 

On day 21 Blue followed Shiro into the hotel.

“So this is me,” Shiro said and waved at the suite on the fifteenth floor. It was the same room Blue had spent the night in three weeks ago.

A good memory (finding Shiro) and a repressed one tried to overtake his mind - he let the good one getting the upper hand.

The room looked different than before. Cut-out and mostly faded pictures from old calendars and art taken from several shops covered the walls. The bedsheet was a light blue and matched a few smaller pillows. A lot of books lay around. Blue skimmed through some. He didn't like reading anymore. It was too quiet.

“Where are you gonna sleep tonight?” Shiro asked.

Blue didn’t move.

“The room next to mine is empty and clean.”

Blue nodded. He stayed.

 

On day 25 Shiro dashed through the door into Blue’s room in the middle of the night.

“Shht, it’s alright, you’re okay, you’re fine,” Shiro whispered as he climbed into Blue’s bed and hugged him with his one arm, the broken prosthetic long gone. Sweat pearls covered Blue’s forehead, his hair was damp, his body shaking.

“You screamed. But you’re fine, I got you, I’m right here with you. You’re not alone.”

Blue fell asleep leaning against Shiro’s chest.

From that moment on they always spent the nights together, huddled together, bodies pressed against each other. They already were inseparable in their waking hours but not even the night could part them anymore.

 

On day 30 Shiro learned Blue’s name.

The day went on as usual: breakfast in the park, getting water, the shops, looking for food and other goods, walking, dinner at the fireplace. Only this time they went to the hotel earlier. Something was different about Blue, he seemed to be restless.

They changed into sleeping clothes and lay down in bed, next to each other.

“Good night, Blue,” Shiro said before he closed his eyes, waiting for Blue to finish the song he was humming before he put his head on Shiro's chest as usual.

Blue finished the song.

He wouldn’t hum it again for a long time.

A minute passed while they lay in silence.

Then--

 

“Lance.”

 

His voice cracked.

His soul split open.

And he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to silence.

 

On day 31 they had their first verbal conversation.

Shiro didn’t expect him to say more than his name because this one syllable had been the only thing he’d said the night before and it had taken all of his energy because he’d fallen asleep not even a minute later.

Shiro had held him all night in his arm, gently stroking his hair while he repeated one word over and over in his mind.

 

_Lance. Lance. Lance._

 

“Beans or peaches?” Shiro asked him when they sat down on a bench in the little park to have their daily breakfast. With his knife he tapped against the two cans in his backpack, expecting his friend to point at one or the other.

“Peaches. I can’t stand beans.”

Shiro dropped the knife.

“What?”

“No- nothing, Lance.”

For a few moments, they stared at each other. Lance looked at him wearily, his arms wrapped around his own body, and Shiro thought he looked as if he was feeling guilty.

Shiro made a decision: he wouldn’t ask.

With a nod, he picked up the knife and took one of the cans.

“Peaches it is.”

 

On day 35 Shiro had almost forgotten that there’d been a time when Lance hadn’t talked.

 “...and then I called the local newspaper and told them about his passion for hair clasps. He was mad at me for the rest of high school. It was hilarious.”

Shiro laughed when Lance finished his story with a deep bow.

“You’re quite the prankster.”

“Not really,” Lance shrugged, “but I try to give people what they deserve.”

“Oh, remind me to stay on your good side then.”

Lance stopped walking.

Shiro turned around to him.

“What is it?”

“You’re the best that happened to me since I can remember.” Lance stepped closer. “Since I want to remember.”

A new kind of silence spread between them.

Something electric chased through Shiro’s body when he held the steady gaze of Lance’s eyes.

 

On day 40 Lance took Shiro’s hand and didn’t let go until they stood in front of the hotel.

 

On day 41 Shiro took Lance’s hand and didn’t let go until they stood in front of their suite.

 

On day 42 they took each other’s hand and didn’t let it go until they closed the door of the suite behind them.

 

The sun set in the far distance and illuminated the room with warm drops of light that shimmered through the curtains.

The silence between them was welcome because they let their bodies do the talking. Shy fingers traced each other’s skin, soon joined by curious lips.

Their kisses weren’t desperate since despair was a feeling each one of them had let go a long time ago.

It was sweet, and it was slow, because what was there to prove or to rush when they were the only people left on Earth?

When Shiro’s legs bumped against the bed, Lance gently pushed him down and crawled on top of him.

The last rays of sunlight vanished behind the horizon but inside their minds and bodies, everything was illuminated.

 

On day 46 Lance showed Shiro the book with photographs of his deceased family, their names hard to pass his lips. Shiro didn’t comment but kept listening all night until there wasn’t a single tear left in Lance’s body and he fell asleep from exhaustion.

 

On day 50 they were on the other side of the town when they hastily built a makeshift bed for the night in a forgotten coffee shop because they needed each other so badly, they couldn’t wait until they were back in their suite.

 

On day 55 their well had finally run dry and they were lucky when they found a new one only two miles outside of town. They spent the day carrying buckets of water in the lobby of the hotel and Lance decided that he was happy. It was also the day Shiro joined Lance’s belief that they were the only people alive. Because truly, everyone else that had mattered, was already gone.

 

On day 67 Lance worried his lip as he stared at the can of corn he knew Shiro didn’t like. A leaf fell down from a tree and got caught in his hair.

“If you share this with me, I promise we’ll have beans in the morning. The barbecue ones you like so much.”

Shiro’s expression softened and he gently put his hand on Lance’s face, his thumb caressing his jaw before he removed the orange leaf from his brown hair.

“I love you, Lance.”

They forgot about the can of corn for the next few hours because Lance loved him too.

 

On day 87 a violent gang made his way of destruction across the town, looting shops and apartments, shooting things that didn’t need to get shot. Lance and Shiro hid in the hotel suite with closed curtains for a week until they were sure the intruders were gone.

 

On day 109 they had their first fight.

“When did you plan to tell me, huh?” Lance shouted and threw the empty pillbox on the ground. “In two weeks? A month? When you’re-- when I-- ”

His voice broke and tears welled up in his eyes. He pressed his hand against his hurting heart. “Were you about to tell me _at all_?”

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Shiro whispered, afraid that any loud word might break him, “I meant to tell you but I-- I didn’t want you to worry. And then time passed and we were-- … And I know you--”

Lance dismissed any further explanation by waving his hand and stormed out into the suite next door.

 

On day 110 Shiro woke up to find Lance clinging onto him, red-rimmed eyes firmly staring into his.

“We’re gonna find more medication for you, Shiro. I promise.”

 

~~

 

On day 110 Lance started counting again.

 

42 days until Shiro ran out of the medication he needed to stay alive.

When Shiro told him that he’d already checked all the doctor’s offices, pharmacies, and the town’s hospital, Lance stubbornly shook his head. They spent the next three days rummaging the same places again.

Without success.

 

30 days before the drugs were gone, they had checked countless apartments, two schools, a nursing home and various other places. They found nothing.

 

27 days left and Shiro didn’t listen to Lance’s proposal of leaving the town to look someplace else.

“There’s nothing left for us out there. This is paradise here, Lance. You have no idea how lucky we are! If we leave, there’s nothing for us but death. Within less than a week.”

“I don’t care! We have to try! At least we’d be dead together!”

Shiro had put his hand heavily on Lance’s shoulder.

“Don’t say that.”

Lance shrugged off his hand.

“I’m not gonna live without you, Shiro! I love you!”

 

25 days until Shiro’s drugs were used up and Lance didn't see any sense in being angry.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry, Lance. With all what you’ve been through with your…family, I really shouldn’t--”

Lance took his hand, Shiro continued.

“You shouldn’t have to go through this again.”

Lance leaned up to kiss him gently.

“We can’t change the world we live in. Let’s do the most of it.”

Shiro leaned down to press a kiss on his forehead.

“Like what?”

“Let’s have barbecue beans.”

Shiro laughed and threw his arms around him.

 

9 days left.

They began carrying as much water and food as possible up into their suite, avoiding to talk about the _why_.

 

3 days left.

They visited their favorite parks and spots in the town. Hand in hand they walked through the streets and sometimes Shiro would stop to look at something as if he’d see it for the first time: a tree, a cloud in the sky, a looted book store...

 

_Lance._

 

He looked at lot at Lance.

And Lance looked at him.

 

2 days left.

They loved each other all day, not leaving the suite.

 

1 day left.

A rain shower surprised them during breakfast and they giggled when they ran for cover in the nearby mall, spending they day in the movie section of an electronic store, bickering about favorite action scenes.

 

Day zero.

Lance watched as Shiro took the last pill and gave himself the last shot of the medicine he needed to live.

 

Minus 3 days.

“I feel good, Lance, really. Let’s take a walk, I don’t wanna stay inside this room any longer.”

 

Minus 5 days.

“Are you okay, Shiro?”

“Yeah,” he breathed heavily as he walked up the stairs, “just a bit exhausted is all.”

 

Minus 10 days.

“Maybe we can stay in bed today, Lance? Just today.”

 

Minus 17 days.

It was the first day in a week that Lance left the suite. He’d spent the last days covering Shiro in wet towels or throwing extra blankets on top of him, whatever his body required. Lance knew he was in massive pain although he denied it. The expression on his face and the way his body convulsed said something else.

“I’ll be right back, Shiro.”

He wasn’t sure if Shiro was able to take in his words anymore.

 

Minus 20 days.

It was a good day.

Shiro sat upright in the bed with his back leaning against the wall. Lance sat next to him and smiled.

“Another round?” he asked and waved with the deck of cards in his hands.

“But not if you let me win again,” Shiro said and winked.

Lance leaned forward, careful not to touch him because his body was hurting everywhere. Shiro gave him a short nod to consent.

It was a brief kiss but it was everything.

Lance won the next round.

They had peaches for dinner.

 

Minus 21 days. When Lance woke up in the morning, he stopped counting.

 

~~

 

He moved back into the backroom of the ice-cream parlor. The days got quiet. During the first weeks, he talked to himself. Sometimes he sat down on the bench in the park and talked to his friend.

“I’m running out of food, Shiro,” he mumbled. “And the well goes dry pretty soon. Hasn’t rained for a while.”

 

One day he stopped talking.

Time didn’t matter anymore.

Days passed, nights passed, rain, sunshine, storm, and heat.

 

One day he walked the empty streets and suddenly remembered a song he’d hummed a lifetime ago. It came easy over his lips and he greeted it like an old companion.

 

One day he woke up in the morning and vomited.

His head hurt and when he touched it there was blood on his hands. He looked around his room in the back of the ice-cream parlor. There was blood on the walls but he didn’t know how it had got there.

He felt dizzy.

And he couldn’t remember.

It made him nervous.

He hummed the song, over and over and over.

 

One day he came back into his hideout to find it looted and destroyed. The mattress was cut open, his photo album was ripped into pieces. More blood on the walls.

He ran outside, ready to face whoever had done this, to fight them all, to scream at someone.

 

There was nothing.

Only silence.

And his head hurt.

 

One day he tried to speak.

He couldn’t.

 

One day he stopped going to the almost empty well.

One day he stopped eating.

One day he thought he was blind but it was only dried blood on his eyelids.

Who had hit him?

 

One day he had a good day.

He felt weak, incredibly weak, but somehow he made it across town to a hotel he once knew. He needed the whole night to climb the stairs until he had reached the fifteenth floor.

 

He was on all fourth when he pushed open the door into the suite.

The bed was empty.

He crawled onto it.

From the bed he could look outside the window, the curtains wide open.

It was almost dawn, maybe an hour before the sun set.

His eyes drifted towards the closed bathroom door.

He knew he wasn’t allowed to go there, no matter what.

So he stayed in bed.

And looked outside the window.

And hummed his song.

 

~~

 

“I know this song.”

 

Lance stops humming.

Forever.

Slowly he raises his head.

The man at the end of the bed grins.

 

“Hey Blue.”

 

“It’s Lance,” Lance says with an eye-roll.

 

“I know.”

 

They stare at each other.

 

“Shiro. I know you’re not really here.”

 

Shiro softly shakes his head.

 

“You’re not really _there_.”

 

He pauses.

  
“Look around.”

 

Lance isn’t in the hotel suite anymore.

 

He knows this place.

The posters on the wall.

The view outside the window.

The bedsheets.

The pictures on his nightstand with the people he loves most.

 

Shiro’s still standing at the end of the bed.

He reaches out his hand.

 

“Are you coming?”

 

Lance hesitates.

 

“Where to?”

 

“Oh, you know.”

 

Suddenly the silence around them goes away.

The laughter of children echoes outside.

An elderly woman calls his name and he feels her love seeping through the walls around him.

There are others, so many more.

 

“That’s my family,” Lance whispers.

 

Shiro nods.

 

“I’m gonna take you to them.”

 

Slowly Lance gets out of his old childhood bed and grabs Shiro’s hand. Their fingers interlock.

 

“You _are_ real.”

 

“Never said I wasn’t.”

 

Lance touches his face, his fingers trace his cheeks, his nose, scar, and lips.

 

“I missed you.”

 

“I missed you, too.”

 

Together they walk up to the door.

 

“It’s time, Lance. They’re waiting.”

 

Lance smiles as he pushes open the door.

 

For a moment it is too bright to make out anything on the other side. Then shadows become figures and figures become people.

 

People become family and friends.

 

Shiro's breath hitches.

 

“There's my little brother.”

“And my siblings! Mom! Dad! My friends!”

 

For one brief moment, the two of them are the only ones between here and there, and they look at each other's well-known faces.

 

“I love you, Lance.”

“I love you, too, Shiro.”

 

The chapter of their lives ends here.

 

But when they walk through the door, hand in hand, in anticipation to meet their friends and families, another chapter begins, written in an ink not readable with the eyes of the living.

 

But rest assured, it is a _good_ one.

 

**Author's Note:**

> See? They're both fine. Everyone's fine in the end.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> I got the idea with Lance humming the same song over and over again when I walked into my local supermarket yesterday. A song I haven't listen to in a while was playing on the speakers, a song that has a lot of repeating lines. I won't add which song it was so everyone can imagine a different song - if by any chance an actual song came into your mind while reading this, let me know in the comments.
> 
> Or find me on Tumblr [@worstmissionever](http://worstmissionever.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@worstmission](https://twitter.com/worstmission) or one some discord server.


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